


The Reverent Stillness in Your Throat

by kiemitsu



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Comfort, Frerard, Heartbreak, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, The Black Parade, The Paramore Mansion, my chemical romance - Freeform, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiemitsu/pseuds/kiemitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wish,” Gerard started, searching slowly for the right words, “I wish it were that simple for me.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Your guitar,” he said, nodding to the guitar as he spoke, “I wish someone could just, I dunno, strum the strings and make me sing.” There was something like shame, like guilt in his confession. It was like he lost his heart to sing watching Mikey disappear behind the door. He hung his head, closing his eyes against the memory. Frank took the guitar from his lap and propped it up against the couch next to him, the pick still in his hand. He lifted Gerard’s chin with his fingers, searching for his eyes through his hair.</p>
<p>“I could make you sing,” he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reverent Stillness in Your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> Set during MCR's time at the Paramore Mansion after Mikey left. Gerard returns from his descent into madness and returns to Frank.

Gerard lay awake, staring unfocused at the ceiling. How long had he been tossing and turning in this bed? An hour? A day? When was the last time he left the room? He glanced at the clock on the dresser, only to remember that he had pulled the cord...whenever that was ago. The walls were halfway covered with angry scrawled sketches and lyrics, the letters increasing in size and decreasing in legibility. This fucking house, he thought, hearing a distant groan and clang coming from somewhere in the Paramore mansion. The sheets were tangled around his legs, like they wouldn’t let him leave the bed. Though he didn’t feel much like leaving anyway now that Mikey had gone. 

It hit him all over again. Mikey was gone. He might not never come back, and it was all his fault. Gerard scrubbed his face with his hands, twisting his hands into his hair. He sat up suddenly, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. Standing in the darkened room, before the madness scribbled on the walls, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

The long hallway was dark and quiet, all the doors firmly shut along the wall. His steps gave creaks as he walked towards the kitchen, stopping suddenly. In the living room he could see someone sitting on the floor, back propped up to the couch. He gave a few more steps forward. It was Frank, electric guitar on his lap and a pick peeking out from his lips. Gerard could hear the small tinny sounds of the strings, watching Frank play chords and then stop to bite his lip and cock his head like something wasn’t right. He cautiously took another step forward. The floor groaned and Frank’s head whipped up from the guitar in surprise until his eyes found Gerard.

“Fuck!” he said quietly, “What are you tiptoeing around for?”

“Sorry,” Gerard whispered back, “hey, you know what time it is?”

Frank shrugged, “Late. Early maybe, I dunno, I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded, “I know the feeling.”

“Come on, sit down. I got a melody in my head.” Frank patted the floor next to him and Gerard sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. Frank looked over at him before starting to play the guitar. It sounded so much louder in the dark, the metallic sounds seeming to echo on and on. Gerard watched the pick in Frank’s fingers, how it cut into the strings, the muscles in Frank’s hands. They’d been working on the new album for what felt like an eternity. It had been a struggle, too much of a struggle. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down to listened to any of them just play, let alone Frank. It felt good. 

“You like that?” asked Frank, noticing the smile, however small, that had found it’s way to Gerard’s lips.

“Yeah, I was just--” Gerard paused, looking down at his hands for a moment, “Just thinking it’d been a long time since I heard you play--like just playing, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Frank echoed. He had been spending his nights with his guitar in his lap, trying to come up with something, anything to get them out of the creative hole that the loss of Mikey had created. He hadn’t seen Gerard since Mikey walked out, and he knew there was nothing he could do about that either. Not that he didn’t want to. How many nights had he stood in front of Gerard’s door, pressing his ear to the cool wood and listening to his soft sobs, to the sound of things being broken? But he couldn’t open the door. Knew that even if he did, Gerard wouldn’t want to see him. He had been steadily pushing everyone away the deeper that he drifted into the world of the album, like he stopped seeing reality. Deep down, Frank was almost glad Mikey left, the shock finally bringing Gerard back to the surface.

“I wish,” Gerard started, searching slowly for the right words, “I wish it were that simple for me.”

“What?”

“Your guitar,” he said, nodding to the guitar as he spoke, “I wish someone could just, I dunno, strum the strings and make me sing.” There was something like shame, like guilt in his confession. It was like he lost his heart to sing watching Mikey disappear behind the door. He hung his head, closing his eyes against the memory. Frank took the guitar from his lap and propped it up against the couch next to him, the pick still in his hand. He lifted Gerard’s chin with his fingers, searching for his eyes through his hair.

“I could make you sing,” he said, tipping Gerard’s head back further, exposing his neck like marble in the darkness. Gerard could feel his pulse quicken, and then a strange prick on his skin. Frank had the guitar pick at the base of his collarbone, dragging it slow and smooth upwards. Gerard’s mouth fell open, the slight catch at his Adam’s apple. The drag was so sweet on his skin.

“Sing,” whispered Frank, voice husky. 

The pick was at the base of Gerard’s chin when he moaned, a low and wretched sound. The pick flicked off his chin and he felt Frank’s thumb on his lower lip before he slowly began to drag it down. Gerard’s teeth glinted like wet ivory.

“Sing,” repeated Frank, “sing for me, Gee.”

His thumb dragged over Gerard’s chin, down further to his Adam’s apple, and Gerard began to moan a broken melody, his throat vibrating under Frank’s thumb. The sound of his broken heart. Frank drank in the sound, haunting and miserable. His pressed his lips to Gerard’s throat before kissing his mouth, kneeling before him and tangling his hands in his hair, keeping his neck exposed. Frank kissed him hard, possessively. It had been so long he was aching with it. In between, Gerard gave a small shiver, more broken sounds escaping his lips before kissing Frank back. He had climbed into Gerard’s lap, slipping his tongue easily into Gerard’s open mouth. Gerard had his hand on the back of Frank’s neck, occasionally running it across the back of his head and tugging at the short hair there. 

“Frankie,” he gasped, breaking the kiss. Even in the dark, Frank’s eyes were soft and beautiful, his mouth glistening. He cupped Frank’s cheek and Frank kissed the palm of his hand, his eyes looking back up at Gerard. The look was familiar. Playful. Smoldering. Frank took Gerard’s hand and led him soundlessly from the floor, down the hall, and into his room. There was no chaos on the walls, no unplugged clocks, no torrid mess of sheets. There was only the smell of cloves and cinnamon, of Frank. The door closed softly and Frank slipped Gerard’s old t-shirt off. He said nothing as he kissed the porcelain skin beneath, as if he were blessing Gerard’s body. He took off his own shirt, the tattoos inky black against his skin. Tattoos that Gerard knew so well, yet would love to look at forever. He sat Gerard on the bed and kissed his forehead softly, then under his eyes, below his ear. With a slow reverence that said I know your pain, I accept your pain, and you shall have mercy.

There were times when Frank knew that Gerard needed to be fucked. Needed something rough and loud. And then there were times when Frank knew that Gerard needed to be loved, patient and slow. So he went slow, their wet mouths tangled together before Frank pushed him down into the bed and never taking his eyes off Gerard, dragging the hem of his pajama pants down, feeling his hard cock scrape against the fabric as he did. It had been so long and Frank had been so patient, screaming Gerard’s name in his head when he’d jerk himself off because Gerard wasn’t there. 

Gerard moaned softly at Frank’s touch, something like music as he lost himself in the pleasure of the rhythm of Frank’s hand. Frank watched his face, the most unguarded he’d seen him since they got to this godforsaken house. The way his mouth would fall open, his eyes would flutter and close. The Gerard that was only his. He took his hand off his cock, and before Gerard could whine in protest, pulled Gerard’s face to his own, kissing him while he stroked his own cock. 

“Tell me,” Frank said breathlessly, “tell me what you want.”

Gerard leaned his forehead to Frank’s, “You.”

Frank kissed him again, feeling the hot blush on Gerard’s cheeks. He put his fingers to Gerard’s mouth and lightly pushed him back against the headboard of the bed, taking a moment to look at him, vulnerable and willing. The lube was cold on his fingers as he slowly stretched Gerard, the broken gasps crescendoing when Frank slid inside him, setting a slow rhythm for them to rock to together. Gerard was lost inside it, the noise and chaos and heartbreak and guilt all forgotten in the sweetness. Frank’s pace quickened, his own low moans in lilting harmony with Gerard’s. 

“Frank…!” Gerard’s voice was breaking as he came. Frank followed him over the edge with a gasp. 

The sky was tinged with pink, filling the room with a soft glow. Gerard lay in Frank’s arms, his skin coated in early morning. There was a stillness in that moment, a reverent stillness that Frank imagines is felt in prayer. All-encompassing and comforting. He smoothes the ebony hair from Gerard’s forehead and kisses it again. The stillness won’t last forever. But it was enough for now.


End file.
